


Golden Chain

by OKami_hu, oksammich



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Community: rotg_kink, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oksammich/pseuds/oksammich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreamwidth kinkmeme prompt fill. Pitch is brooding over his perceived future but Sandy holds on to the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Co-authored. Written on Tsuru-san's request, in exchange of her amazing fill 'Balance' on my prompt. Link to the request [is here](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/1511.html?thread=247271#cmt247271)

Half an eternity had passed since Sandy landed on Earth. With his starship broken, he was doomed to stay and waste away. The Man on the Moon probably saved his life when he appointed Sandy to Guardian; and the dream-weaver was thankful for that.

He had known Pitch for just as long. The Nightmare king was the cause of Sandy’s fall, and they kept on circling around each other for ages, the scales tipping from one side to the other. They had a truce, then fought and Pitch was chased back into the darkness - but it was necessary. Too much power on one side makes for a miserable world.

Sandy had every reason to hate Pitch, but he never did. It wasn’t really in his nature. Even when the Nightmares raged, stifling humanity’s hopes, he could look at the tall, dark spirit and see something else than malice and rage.

The Guardians never expected Pitch to vanish; they didn’t even want that. As the centuries came and went, the powers seemed to balance each other, and everybody was fine with that. But at a point... something changed. There was still enough belief and still enough fear in the world, but Pitch made himself scarce until spotting him became almost impossible.

Therefore, it was quite a surprise to run into him. The night was just beginning, Sandy just released the first strands on dreamsand when he suddenly spotted the dark figure on top of that new house sitting on a stone monster as if riding it; the building was so tall, it almost scratched the sky. Pitch was staring at the city below, he didn’t seem to be taking notice of the Sandman’s presence. Sandy had a good chance to watch him for a while.

The Nightmare king had changed. He used to have fancy coats and cloaks but now his attire had merged into something simple and sleek; it fit the recent times, when people tried to make everything streamlined and simplistically elegant. His back was still straight and his shoulders relaxed; but Sandy knew better. He and Pitch were astonishingly similar despite walking on different paths.

From a safe distance, Sandy studied the ashen face. Pitch’s eyes gleamed in the darkness and he didn’t move. He was handsome, in a unique way. Handsome, and lonely. Bitter. Maybe even a little scared.

“I know you’re there,” came that chilling voice, winter’s wind with a biting, frosty edge. Strangely enough, Pitch had retreated to a tower top this evening--he usually avoided open areas, at least in Sandy’s experience. “Have you come to chase me away?”

There was always an attack in his words, yet even these seemed a bit resigned. “Go along, I’ve no intention of bothering you.” The Nightmare King sat perched like a raven upon the graceful neck of a leering gargoyle, its face chipped and broken with time. One knee was drawn up toward his chest, serving as a rest for his elbow; the other leg dangled toward the ground below. Sandy wondered if perhaps Pitch Black ever feared falling. “You always think that your lot are the center of my concern. How sorely mistaken you are.”

Sandy tilted his head to the side a bit and floated closer on his dreamsand cloud, holding his hands up in a peaceful gesture. He came to a halt just outside an arm’s reach and sat silently - like he always did. Peering over the swirling golden dust, he could see the lights of the city, and it made him smile. So much light. So many bright wishes and hopeful dreams.

But Pitch said something that made the dreambringer look at him questioningly.

His hands were elegant. The one over his knee cupped his pointed chin, and Sandy saw gold burning bright and dangerous in his eyes. It faded with a flicker of lashes. “Surprised? Of course you are.”

Below them, life surged through the veins of the city. Stars above, stars below; and in the midst of it all, Pitch Black was ink on satin. “You think I would wish an existence like mine on anyone else? Even you?” His lips curled into a cruel smirk. “I pray that no one knows this malingering hell, waking each night to know that I may just fade with a fleeting shiver.”

The Sandman drew himself upright with a startled twitch. He blinked at Pitch and shook his head firmly. Fear was not about to fade; it permeated the world, no matter how much light there was. Light and dark couldn’t exist without one another.

“I am merely a vessel, you--” Pitch turned his head, and it was then he caught a strange glimpse of some emotion foreign to that stony face. Amusement? “--foolish, floating pastry. Even if I am gone, there will be another shadow for you to battle. Some other fiend will rise up in my place, and you can bother him. In the meantime, I will be forgotten, erased like one of your dreams upon waking.”

Another headshake replied to the bitter words and Sandy floated closer. The insult didn’t bother him much. He smiled and a question sign curled above his head. He was curious what brought the foul mood upon his counterpart. Sure, he did have a reason to be morose and complain - but he never questioned himself.

There was silence between them. Well, as silent as it could be in this exciting world. There was music to this changing era, the beat of ever-pounding footsteps and the melody of laughter that was never lost on him but seemed to coast right through the Nightmare King, as if it didn’t believe in him either.

Finally, he spoke, the words nearly lost on a sudden crescendo: “You could never understand. My time is ending. I feel it each night that you destroy what I have worked to create; you will always have the love of children to fuel you, but I? I am just a passing shadow. I do not belong in this world, nor with any of you.”

He breathed in sharply. Sandy saw pain crease his brow, and suddenly, his opposite looked more tired than he’d ever remembered before. “I don’t know why I fight it.”

A tiny hand reached out to rest on the bony shoulder. Sandy shook his head again with a solemn look. He held up a finger then his sand began to move and paint images on the canvas of the dark sky. The silhouette was obviously the dreambringer’s, but it was hollow, an outline; with a golden butterfly at the very center. Sandy held out a hand and the butterfly flew right into it, representing dreams and wishes, the core of the golden Guardian. The image merged into the Nightmare King’s with an ever-changing, swirling center. Sandy called it closer too, and in his hand, the dust shifted into the shape of a crown. It hovered above Pitch’s head before crumbling away and returning into the cloud. He was the Nightmare King, after all. Nightmares were to stay and so was their master.

Above Sandy’s head, the elaborate ‘G’ appeared, the sign of all guardians. He pointed at it and shook his head. The guardians never wanted Pitch out of the picture; destroying things wasn’t in their nature. The chubby hand gestured towards the city. It was the people, who dared to dream; they told their children that the Boogeyman was just a shadow, a mouse, the wind, the creaking of the floor. The guardians had no say in it.

He could read little into the sharp face, but his eyes, ever so intense and intelligent, darted back and forth as the sand danced overhead. “So this is to be my fate.”

In Sandy’s golden waves, a small, thin horse emerged from the blackness. It galloped across the swirls and delicate curves of his sand, before tendrils began to curl around its limbs. In the blink of an eye, it was gone, swallowed by gold and absorbed into the light. “I suppose I should thank you for making me see this.”

The sand kept on moving; it formed a plain disk, then half of it disappeared, leaving only the outline and finally it merged into the classic yin and yang sign. Sandy took a pinch of sand from the golden area and placed it into the empty side to complete the picture. He gestured toward it and tapped his own chest first then Pitch’s. His golden eyes shone sincerely. Despite being loved and sometimes even invoked, dream-weaving was a lonely job. North and Tooth always had company and Bunny was more of a loner, but Sandy missed just being near others. 

Pitch’s hand hovered near his for some time, then the fingers spread into claws and Sandy readied himself to be struck. But then, he discovered that Pitch’s skin was cool and dry, and his fingers were thin, delicate almost. Sandy’s entire hand fit in the center of Pitch’s palm, then was enveloped by spidery digits with tenderness that took him by surprise.

“Have you any idea how insufferable you are, little Sandman?” The words bit, yet there was a hint of softness around his sharp eyes and mouth.

With a soundless giggle and a cheeky grin, Sandy nodded. He moved closer - almost snuggled up - to the Nightmare King and after a moment of thinking, a tiny finger drew a semicircle from one end of the prominent collarbones to the other. The movement left a solid trail of sand, like a golden chain, similar to the mark Pitch used to wear many centuries ago, as a sign of their truce. The new one was not that, not a firm alliance’s sign, merely a promise and a plea. It was bound to snap, being so delicate; but even the delicate bonds survive one single night.

Pitch murmured something, then completed their uneasy truce with a sigh and the circling of thin arms around his body. There was no warmth to be felt, but there was closeness; there was no soft touch of flesh and vigor, but there was still comfort. Fingers slid through his hair, gentle even though they were capable of hurting him in an instant. “How I wish you would not dredge up the past.”

Sandy shivered as a black butterfly circled him, then alighted upon the tip of his nose. He crossed his eyes , blinked then sneezed, still without a sound. The butterfly relocated on his hair and the Sandman cupped his counterpart - old rival, arch enemy, friend, kindred spirit’s - face. Pitch was many things, but if Sandy could help it, the Nightmare king wasn’t going to be lonely for too long.

~End~


End file.
